<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Wretched Boy That Consorts Him Here by Alley_Skywalker</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505722">Wretched Boy That Consorts Him Here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker'>Alley_Skywalker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealousy, Love/Hate, Lust, M/M, Pining, Pre-Poly, eventual polyamory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:01:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505722</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt tries to teach his errant lover and a certain young Montague a lesson. He gets more than he bargained for (and so does everyone else).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mercutio/Romeo Montague, Mercutio/Romeo Montague/Tybalt, Mercutio/Tybalt (Romeo and Juliet), Romeo Montague/Tybalt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wretched Boy That Consorts Him Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestepatatime32/gifts">onestepatatime32</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>Montagues. </i>At their party. In their house. The mere thought makes Tybalt’s blood boil. He doesn’t even need to unmask the slip of a boy to know who he is; he can tell by his voice – Romeo has that distinctive, gentle lilt, his <i>r</i>-s a little too soft and his vowels a little too long, as though he is constantly on the verge of singing some melodramatic lament. Combined with his mass of dark curls, the shape of his mouth, posture, gate, figure – <i>fuck, </i>everything – it could be no one other than Romeo Montague, that snotty puppy Mercutio moons over endlessly. </p><p>Tybalt ought to teach the boy a lesson. Lord Capulet foils him on that account, but Tybalt cannot help but follow Romeo, weaving through the crowd after him, <i>waiting </i>for him to do something even Tybalt’s uncle would not be able to ignore. Tybalt fumes at his uncle’s sudden peaceful disposition. He would so love to point his sword at Romeo, watch Romeo’s own sword rise to meet it, hear the joyful moan of metal on metal. He would love to ravage the boy, press him against the wall, feel the delicate skin of his throat under his hands, watch him writhe under the tip of Tybalt’s sword. Tybalt would teach him that a Montague’s place is below a Capulet. </p><p>He watches from a distance as Romeo approaches his friends. Tybalt cannot be certain which Montague cousin has chosen to participate in this venture, although most likely it’s Benvolio, if Tybalt deigns to remember the names of Mercutio’s cursed Montague friends. The other man is certainly Mercutio – the absolute nuisance that he is, he is easy to spot in a crowd, even with a mask. Everything from the garish feathers in his hair, to the sickeningly bright and vibrant colors of his doublet, Mercutio stands out among the far more reasonably dressed Capulet guests.<i> And he calls </i>me<i> a fop, </i>Tybalt thinks bitterly, finishing off another glass of wine. </p><p>He watches as Mercutio leans into Romeo, puts a hand on the nape of his neck, whispers something into his ear that makes Montague blush a pretty, girlish pink. They look at each other and smile, completely lost in each other’s eyes for a few moments. It makes Tybalt’s blood boil. He knows Mercutio’s wanton ways, should not be surprised by them, but it still stung to be called another man’s name in bed, especially when the man in question is a milksop Montague brat. If he closes his eyes, Tybalt can still recall the entire scene as though it had happened yesterday – Mercutio’s moans melting with Tybalt’s as they neared their release, how bright but far-off Mercutio’s eyes had been, the sudden tenderness in his touch as he pushed sweat-soaked strands of hair out of Tybalt’s face, and the breathless way in which he had whispered, <i>Oh God, my darling, Romeo—yes…</i></p><p><i></i>Tybalt should have murdered him right then and there. </p><p>Instead, they had spent the following few weeks picking fights in the street – Tybalt outranged and Mercutio deathly embarrassed. Yet, they only managed to lick their metaphorical wounds for so long before falling into bed together again, all sharp teeth, filthy pillow talk, and undeniable pleasure that bordered with pain. </p><p>Tybalt tucked Mercutio’s little secret away for future use, if necessary. However, now he wonders how he had never noticed it before. The way Mercutio looks at Romeo is full of longing – it’s obvious even with the mask. His eyes burn into the boy, drink in his every gesture, his every smile. But Montague seems almost oblivious, his own looks and touches fond and familiar, but more like those of a beloved brother than a lover. This makes Tybalt smile with spite. Romeo is exacting a far greater revenge on Mercutio by simply not reciprocating his attentions in kind than Tybalt could ever design. And Montague cannot take from Tybalt that which he does not even know to be within his grasp. </p><p>Tybalt can do without having Mercutio’s heart, but he requires his passion, his <i>desire. </i></p><p><i></i>When Romeo moves off from his friends, Tybalt follows him. </p><p> </p><p>He follows the Montague boy into the garden when he goes out for a breath of fresh air, having lost track of his friends in the crowd of guests and apparently not finding a single lady pretty enough to deserve his attentions. Tybalt follows after him like a shadow. Montague doesn’t seem to notice, far too caught up in his own thoughts and gazing dreamily up at the moon. Finally, he wonders far away from the house and into a darker corner of the garden, behind a thick and tall hedge. If Tybalt is going to make any move now, he ought to do it here, where Montague has as little recourse as possible and Tybalt’s uncle is least apt to see. He follows him a little further, slipping off his mask to see better in the dark. Then, like a cat, he pounces on his prey – exact, almost silent. </p><p>Romeo realizes what is happening at the last moment, perhaps catching a glimpse of Tybalt’s shadow. He manages to turn around to face Tybalt, but nothing can save him from being shoved against the hedge and pinned down by all of Tybalt’s superior weight. Tybalt watches his eyes go wide with fear and – something else, something perhaps even darker. A gleeful joy bubbles up inside Tybalt’s chest and he grins. “Think you can just barge into our feast and get away unnoticed, Montague,” Tybalt growls, reaches up to tear the mask off the boy’s face. </p><p>Montague swallows visibly, but then pulls himself together. “Tybalt? What is it you want?”</p><p>“For you to <i>leave.</i>” </p><p>“Oh really?” He gives a pointed look at where Tybalt is gripping his arms, holding him in place against the hedge. </p><p>Tybalt lets out a growl of frustration. He wants to slap the boy hard across the face, watch pain blossom in his handsome, dark eyes, see the fleck of blood on his lips or against the pale, smooth skin of his cheek. </p><p>Instead, for a reason Tybalt will never be able to name afterwards, he kisses him. Hard and rough, probably painful more than pleasant. </p><p>Romeo jerks under him, stiffens, tries to push him off, but Tybalt doesn’t let him go for a few more second to show who is in charge. When he does draw back, they’re both panting. </p><p>There’s a sliver of silver moonlight falling over Romeo’s face and his eyes are dark – stunned and concerned, but without the anger that might be expected. “This is irregular,” Romeo says, his voice a little high-pitched, but he doesn’t look away from Tybalt’s face. </p><p>This time, Tybalt really almost does slap him. His lips are already starting to swell just a little, and color rises in his cheeks when Tybalt retorts with a snarl, “Well you came here for an adventure, didn’t you? Why else would you be sneaking into a Capulet ball?”</p><p>“We mean no harm at all,” Romeo says, the lilting notes coming back into his voice, the roughness from shock and alarm at Tybalt’s attack filing off into smoothness and softness. </p><p>Tybalt growls. He does not know very well how to deal with this sort of innocent sweetness. Mercutio would have mouthed back. He certainly does it often enough in bed. “And yet you are a Montague at a Capulet party. Coming in under masks and false pretenses. What purpose have you here?”</p><p>“To dance,” Romeo says simply. Any trace of worry or alarm has almost completely left his face. Tybalt finds he cannot stop locking at his lips. Poison sweat, just like a girl’s. Long lashes and dark eyes, like a girl’s. God had truly waisted a beautiful face, putting it on a worthless Montague brat. </p><p>Another thought strikes him. This entire escapade must have been Mercutio’s idea. This was exactly the sort of <i>prank </i>Mercutio would play, exactly the sort of way of irritating Tybalt that Mercutio would find amusing. But how amusing would he find it if the entire thing backfired on him? If the lover he has seduces the lover he wants? And Romeo, despite being a Montague, is undeniably, <i>revoltingly, </i>beautiful. </p><p>For all that Tybalt has no qualms when it comes to violence, he is not in the habit of forcing intimacy on anyone. So he reaches out and strokes the back of his hand gently down Romeo’s cheek. “To dance?” he purrs, low and velvety. “Only that?”</p><p>Romeo swallows again. Confusion and a different sort of alarm cross his expression. “I suppose,” he says, his voice coming out strangled. “Perhaps there’s a lady…”</p><p>“Oh, is there,” Tybalt draws out. “So perhaps you did hope for more than dancing.”</p><p>“Tybalt,” Romeo says, stiffening again under him. “We can leave. I don’t want trouble. I told them it was a poor enough idea to come.”</p><p>“Haven’t you heard? Mercutio never listens to reasonable advice.”</p><p>“He means well.” Loyalty and agreement battle each other in Romeo’s voice, and it makes Tybalt smile a little. </p><p>“If you are only here to dance, and perhaps…kiss, then you are not as dedicated to your father’s cause as might be expected.”</p><p>Romeo’s body is thrumming with tension under his and Tybalt’s own body begins to respond traitorously to the sudden tension. “My father’s cause?” Romeo blinks up at him. “Oh—I don’t—I see no need for violence or hatred. What use be they?”</p><p>“What use indeed.” Tybalt cannot quite manage to keep the mockery out of his voice. He traces a finger over Romeo’s jaw and under his chin, tilting his head up slightly. “It seems to me your lady has not been very interested. Well, what if…” He leans in and half-whispers against Romeo’s ear. “You got them after all? And your peace as well.”</p><p>Tybalt pulls back to look at the effect his words created. Romeo stares at him with far too many emotions passing across his face in too quick succession for Tybalt to latch onto any one specifically. “Mercutio…” Romeo breathes, finally. “I though you two…”</p><p>Tybalt rolls his eyes. “He is no maid nor am I. We do as we please. Have you not seen him with others even while he claims to come to my bed?”</p><p>Romeo thinks this over. “Not much, frankly.” </p><p>This is news to Tybalt, although it is just as likely that the fool of a boy is lying or simply blind. “We swore no vows of faithfulness. And surely he would like his friend to have a good time. But you can go ask him yourself if you wish.”</p><p>Romeo flushes. “You think I would consider this a good time?”</p><p>“How about I kiss you again and you can decide then?”</p><p>Romeo does not say anything but when Tybalt slowly leans into him, his eyes droop shut, and he turns his face up, in clear and ridiculously trusting anticipation. </p><p>Romeo’s lips are soft and pliant against his. Tybalt presses on, ruthless and selfish, as harsh in lovemaking as he is in a fight. Montague does not deserve any better. Slowly, the stiffness and tension seeps out of Romeo’s body and, instead, he trembles under Tybalt’s hands, his heart racing. Tybalt can feel it even through the layers of clothes and, infuriatingly, realizes his own is keeping pace. He pushes Romeo further into the hedge, hears and <i>feels </i>him gasp as odd and unruly branches stick into and scratch against his back. But Tybalt has no care for this. He is not here to be gentle; he is not here to coddle a sweet lover. He is here to teach a Montague brat – and his own out-of-hand lover – a lesson, even if it is one he seems eager enough to learn. </p><p>No —<i>especially </i>since it is one he seems eager to learn. </p><p>Tybalt runs one hand over Romeo’s doublet, the other still at his shoulder, pressing him against the hedge, allowing no room for escape. He feels the edge of the thick fabric, fiddles with it, then slides his hand under, where it is suddenly enveloped in the tight, warm space between the doubles and the linen undershirt. Romeo lets out a strangled sound and stiffens, making Tybalt think of other tight, warm places he could put his fingers. But this will do for now. </p><p>He nips lightly at Romeo’s lower lip, eliciting another delightful small moan of half-protest, half-desire, before once again crushing the boy’s mouth with his. Romeo’s own hands come up to clutch at his arms, fingernails digging into Tybalt’s biceps. Tybalt gins into their kiss and strokes Romeo’s chest under the doublet, finding the lacing of his shirt tugging at it, teasing the possibility. </p><p>Romeo has begun to kiss him back now, flicking his tongue against Tybalt’s, meeting the assault on his mouth with flirty, gentle touches, as effeminate as the rest of him. But there’s a playful, biting aftertaste to these flicks and tongue-touches that make Tybalt want to growl. Girls don’t kiss like that – only useless, shy, Montague brats apparently. </p><p>Tybalt slides the hand under Romeo’s doublet further down, over his abdomen, closer to his groin, where the heat of his skin is palpable even through the fabric of his shirt. He barely gets down to the edge of his breeches when Romeo bucks forward, his legs suddenly oddly intertwined with Tybalt’s. Tybalt makes a low, startled noise as his head spins. He thinks he can feel Romeo’s excitement through the layers of clothing and wonders if his own is as noticeable. A wave of rage runs through him at the thought, only mildly tempered by the realization of just how much the Montague boy must want him despite himself. He gives Romeo a shove against the hedge and withdraws just far enough to hiss, “What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>Romeo’s voice comes out of the dark to wrap around him like a cloak of desire and wet heat, “Isn’t this what you want?”</p><p>Tybalt is not certain what <i>this </i>is supposed to mean. His doubts are immediately dispelled, however, when Romeo pushes forward again, this time slowly, deliberately, his hips grinding against Tybalt’s in a merciless pressure. Tybalt bites the inside of his cheek to not make a sound. He braves a look up into the boy’s face and wishes he hadn’t. In the weak moonlight, Romeo’s eyes are wide and dark, bright with the anticipation of extasy. His lips are swollen from Tybalt’s rough treatment, and slightly parted. Tybalt gives into a desire and leans in, bites Romeo’s lower lip sharply, tearing at the delicate skin. The boy lets out a startled yelp and his fingernails dig deeper into Tybalt’s forearms. Tybalt withdraws and watches the changes on Romeo’s face. His long lashes flutter to cover his eyes, a fresh blush stains his cheeks, and there’s a droplet of blood sliding down his lip and down the pale skin of his chin, staining his mouth the crimson shade of a whore’s rouge. </p><p>Tybalt can feel Romeo’s chest rising and falling – heavy, labored breaths that illicit in him a strange and feral almost-tenderness. He leans forward and licks the drop of blood from Romeo’s skin, tastes the salt-iron flavor against his tongue. He licks gently at Romeo’s lower lip, running his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other. Romeo hums, pleased, and once against bucks forward, this time in a smooth, circular motion, not even trying to hide his excitement and enlargement. Tybalt realizes that there is no longer a reason to pretend that he doesn’t want what he so clearly, obviously, wants as well. </p><p>He lifts the hand on Romeo’s shoulder, now no longer fearing that the boy will take the opportunity to push him off – he isn’t going anywhere – and practically tears open Romeo’s collar, the tangle of ruffles and lacing that stand between Tybalt and the soft, tender skin of Romeo’s neck. He nuzzles against Romeo’s Adam’s apple, licks around it, traces insistent small kisses and nips along the front, the side of his neck. Romeo begin to tremble again, rubbing his groin against Tybalt’s in a torn, desperate rhythm that makes Tybalt’s head spin slowly and the world narrow to only the sensation of Romeo’s body under his. </p><p>Suddenly, voices that had been far away and distant, merely floating to them from the house, are sharp and dangerously nearby. Tybalt snaps back to reality and pushes himself away from Romeo with a hissed curse. Romeo slumps against the hedge with a long, exhaled sigh. The voices sound like two groups of people, or perhaps a group and a couple. They roam the garden and it is hard to say where they might wander. Continuing is impossible. </p><p>Tybalt straightens out his clothes and pulls his mask back on. The sudden jolt of adrenaline feel like an ice bucket has been turned over his head and he shivers involuntarily. He can still feel Romeo on his lips. “Can I expect discretion from you?” he asks, throwing Montague a sharp look. </p><p>Romeo lets out a quiet, strangled laugh. “No, I simply can’t wait to tell all of Verona I made out with a man of the House of Capulet behind a garden hedge.” </p><p>Tybalt scowls recognizing Mercutio’s tone. It’s oddly disturbing to hear it coming out of Romeo’s soft, pretty mouth. “Good,” he says a little gruffly and slinks off, not waiting for Romeo to collect himself or say anything further. </p><p> </p><p>Mercutio finds him at the end of the night and pulls him into an empty antechamber. “Where have you been half the evening, Tybalt?” he asks with a feral, tipsy grin. “Perhaps chasing a sweet little mouse?”</p><p>Tybalt, who had found no better alternative than to drown his arousal in alcohol, is feeling drunk enough to take him on the spot, but disconcerted enough by the night’s events to be too angry to do so somehow at the same time. “More like a rat,” Tybalt snaps. “You think it’s amusing, don’t you? Bringing Montagues to our parties?”</p><p>Mercutio tuts and backs Tybalt up against the wall. He is current a lot more stable on his feet than Tybalt, so it is no great feat. “You know, <i>sweetheart, </i>for once that wasn’t my idea.” He runs a hand down Tybalt’s chest, the pressure warm and enticing. </p><p>Tybalt rolls his eyes. “Am I supposed to believe that Montague brat you adore so much came up with it?”</p><p>Mercutio laughs – bright and merry. “No, not Romeo. Alas.” </p><p><i>Alas indeed.</i> The direct reasoning behind Tybalt’s brash revenge seems to have evaporated, yet there are other sins Mercutio is surely guilty of. Loving the Montague boy chief among them. And anyway, Tybalt cannot bring himself to feel bad about his encounter with Romeo. Pretty boys, like pretty girls, are made for kissing. </p><p>“And stop calling him a brat. You’re only jealous,” Mercutio purrs, leaning into Tybalt and flicking his tongue across the lobe of his ear. “Shall we to bed?”</p><p>Tybalt’s irritation – in part at himself, in part at Mercutio, and probably at God as well – fills him up to the brim and he finds himself pushing Mercutio away. “No. Not tonight.”</p><p>Mercutio looks a little hurt, a childish pout gracing his lips. “What’s gotten into you? Certainly, you’re not <i>so </i>angry about the Montagues being here. They caused no harm as it were.”</p><p>“Them being here is harm enough,” Tybalt grumbles stubbornly, yet his mind is elsewhere. He reaches out and pulls Mercutio in for a kiss. His lips are firm and sure and familiar, so very different from Romeo’s. And he smirks when Tybalt withdraws. </p><p>“That’s a good kitty.”</p><p>But Tybalt merely shakes his head. “As good of a course as you might be, Mercutio,” he says, pointedly looking Mercutio up and down. “I’ve already had dessert.”</p><p>“Well,” Mercutio says, feigning indifference, though his eyes burn with curiosity, “I suppose I should go quickly then. Might still be able to catch up with my <i>Montague friends.</i>” He gives Tybalt a wink and a mocking wave before slipping out into the hall. </p><p>Tybalt leans against the wall and buries his face in his hands. </p><p>*~*</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” </p><p>Mercutio hums distractedly, his fingers tangled in Romeo’s hair. The day is sunny and very warm, and Mercutio has taken to dozing off under the Montague’s large maple tree, with Romeo’s head in his lap. Benvolio has gone fishing and swimming with some of the other Montague cousins, but Romeo pleaded ill due to too much wine the night before and Mercutio decided to stay with him. <i>Someone has to be a good friend, </i>he had told Benvolio with a wink and received an affectionate eyeroll and scoff in answer. Romeo had stayed mostly quiet for the past hour, though by his dreamy look, Mercutio decides that he is far more likely dreaming of Rosaline – or some other girl, one could never be certain with Romeo – than unwell from the wine. “Go on.”</p><p>Romeo hesitates. “Have you taken men other than Tybalt to bed?”</p><p>This gets Mercutio’s attention. He looks down at Romeo and blinks uncertainly a couple of times before answering. “Yes, on occasion. Though they are not nearly as much fun.”</p><p>Romeo chews on his lip. They’re oddly swollen. If Mercutio didn’t know better, he would have said Romeo had lain with someone the night before; perhaps some pretty girl he had met at the party. Mercutio forces himself to not think about it too much. “But…at the same time as Tybalt was your lover?”</p><p>It’s an odd line of questioning. “If you mean three men to a bed, no. Not even I have reached such levels of depravity. Yet. If you mean that Tybalt and I take lovers other than each other, then yes.” He tugs a little at Romeo’s curls. “What’s this all about?”</p><p>“Well, thank God. No, it’s nothing.” Under his breath he mumbles, “I was afraid he lied.”</p><p>“Who lied? Romeo? Tell me what is going on.”</p><p>Romeo looks up at him a little guiltily and hesitates again. He starts to fidget nervously, and Mercutio can’t help but roll his eyes. </p><p>“Sweet Romeo, have I ever betrayed any of your confessions?” Mercutio asks with mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest in an affected manner. </p><p>Romeo’s expression relaxes marginally as he smirks. “I can name about ten instances off the top of my head. Would you like them alphabetically or chronologically? Starting with the butterflies—“</p><p>Mercutio swats at him and laughs. “Telling Benvolio doesn’t count.”</p><p>“This would,” Romeo says, looking down guilty. </p><p>This is concerning. They do not generally keep secrets from each other among the three of them. “Alright…” Mercutio says slowly. “I promise to not tell him.”</p><p>Romeo looks skeptical. </p><p>“I swear to God, Romeo, if you don’t tell me I <i>will </i>tickle you.”</p><p>“Aghh!” Romeo laughs and curls up on himself a little, preemptively. “Curiosity killed the cat.”</p><p>“Then poor Tybalt, but I am no cat.”</p><p>It’s Romeo’s turn to swat at him, even though he seems to flinch from the mention of Tybalt. A lump begins to grow at the back of Mercutio’s throat. Tybalt was in an odd mood the previous night. Now Mercutio can’t help but wonder if Tybalt might have disregarded his warnings and decided harassing Romeo was too much fun to pass up. Mercutio wouldn’t put it past him. </p><p>And then Romeo tells him. Hesitantly at first, but then with more and more energy – enthusiasm almost. He tells Mercutio of how Tybalt had followed him out into the garden and accosted him behind a hedge. How they had kissed. <i>A lot. </i>How God knows where it would have gone if they had not been interrupted by approaching party guests. By the time he is done, Romeo is bright red and Mercutio’s heart aches with frustration and jealousy and anger that Tybalt would <i>do this </i>to him. “I don’t know what came over me,” Romeo says, fidgeting and refusing to meet Mercutio’s eyes. “It was like I was drunk, but I had barely had any wine. And after…I don’t regret it. I should! I know you don’t believe in such things, but how am I to look at Friar Lawrence at my nest confession?”</p><p>Mercutio scoffs. Romeo has always thought too much of that old priest’s opinion. </p><p>“Then there’s the fact he’s Tybalt. Not just a Capulet – that would be one thing. But <i>Tybalt. </i>And he is your lover.”</p><p>“As to the latter, pay no mind. I lay no claim on him. Tybalt is like a cat in every and he will wander where he will.” Mercutio cannot quite keep all the bitterness out of his tone. His imagination pains vivid pictures of Tybalt pressing Romeo against a garden hedge, their bodies intertwined, their lips and hands devouring each other’s bodies, their faces flushed with arousal. He holds his breath as not to make any alarming sounds—and realizes he would love to watch this, even while desperately hating every moment. To yearn for Romeo for so long and so tenderly only to have Tybalt – who claims to hate him – to be the first man to kiss him. And for Romeo to discover that men may be kissed as well as women, only to make this discovery not with Mercutio, his truest friend, but with a simmering, dangerous near-stranger at the party of his family’s enemies. </p><p><i>If God exists, he is the cruelest of all creatures, </i>Mercutio thinks. He takes his hand out of Romeo’s hair and runs it through his own. “I will have words with Tybalt,” Mercutio promises, looking up at the sky. Fluffy, white clouds have appeared on the horizon and they float lazily toward the sun – a foggy mass of uncertainty. </p><p>Romeo tugs childishly at his sleeve. “No, Mercutio, don’t. I don’t want him to know that I’ve brough this up to anyone. I promised him discretion.”</p><p>Mercutio looks over at him sharply. “You <i>what</i>? Ah, you made promises to each other, how romantic.”</p><p>Romeo’s eyebrows knit together as he likely senses the hidden hurt behind Mercutio’s words. He sits up and reaches out to gently touch his arm. Mercutio flinches but doesn’t pull away. It’s not truly Romeo he is angry with. Romeo is innocent and trusting and—But Tybalt. Tybalt certainly knew what he was doing behind that hedge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t thinking straight…”</p><p>Mercutio shakes his head. “I told you. I don’t care if you fucked.”</p><p>Somehow, Romeo manages to turn an even brighter red then he already was. “I didn’t…we didn’t…” – his voice drops to a whisper – “<i>fuck.</i>”</p><p>“Mmm. Well even more so then. What do I have to be upset about? But here I had thought he hurt you.”</p><p>“No, he didn’t. It is more that I hurt myself.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“I enjoyed it overmuch.” Romeo is looking at the ground again and his apparent embarrassment and shame sting. </p><p>There’s a raw, uncertain note in Mercutio’s voice as he asks, “Is it so terrible a thing then? You never seemed to mind my involvement with Tybalt. Which part is it you feel beneath you? That he is a man or that he is a Capulet?”</p><p>“Neither!” Romeo’s head shoots up and he stares at Mercutio with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to say…don’t take it that way.”</p><p>“What way?”</p><p>“You know what way. I’ve never judged you for loving Tybalt and I never will. It is not that I think myself too good…”</p><p><i>Too pure perhaps, </i>Mercutio thinks bitterly “<i>Love </i>is a little strong of a word,” Mercutio scoffs. He isn’t entirely certain what it is he feels for Tybalt. But surely love cannot be as messy and broken and constantly vindictive as what he and Tybalt have and are to each other. </p><p>“it’s only…” Romeo continues, squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to put into words something elusive and difficult. “He has always hated me. All Montagues, really. And I always felt him violent and… So, I do not quite understand what happened last night. Besides, it’s odd to think I enjoyed being with a man. I have never considered it before.” </p><p>He looks lost and a little afraid. Mercutio’s heart does a sickening somersault. He reaches out and ruffles Romeo’s hair. “I doubt it will happen again. Forget to think about it.”</p><p>“Tell me how I should forget to think? Every time I close my eyes, I can see his…burning into me…with desire or hatred, I don’t know.”</p><p><i>Probably with a power trip, </i>Mercutio thinks, but does not say in order to not upset him further. Mercutio takes his hand and brings it to his lips, ghosts a kiss over Romeo’s knuckles. “Distract yourself with others,” he says. <i>Dare I hope?</i> </p><p>Romeo gives a small, bitter laugh. “Because all of Verona is so enamored with me.”</p><p>“It should be,” Mercutio says before he can stop himself. </p><p>Romeo looks up and into his face. Mercutio holds his breath but doesn’t dare say anything further. “You know,” Romeo says quietly, thoughtfully, “It’s the same advice Benvolio gave me about Rosaline. I suppose I have followed it well and have been rewarded. She is far as ever from my mind, though no less blessedly beautiful.” He sighs sadly and looks away again. “But to think my heart so inconstant.”</p><p>“It’s hard to be constant to those you do not know,” Mercutio reasons. </p><p>Romeo nods thoughtfully. He looks back at Mercutio and there’s a strange tenderness in his face that Mercutio had never seen there before. Certainly not when Romeo looked at him. Romeo begins to speak—</p><p>—And is interrupted by shouts and laughter coming from the garden gate. In a few more seconds, Benvolio’s voice carries to them from further down the lane. “Romeo! Mercutio! Are you two still out here? Come see what we caught!”</p><p>Romeo makes a face and gives a quick shake of his head as though to clear it. </p><p>Mercutio, overcome with the thought that Romeo had been about to say something important, feels his heart stutter. “What were you saying?” he asks in a hurried half-whisper. </p><p>“No, nothing,” Romeo says, just as quietly. He leans forward and kisses Mercutio on the corner of the mouth. It’s soft and sweet – a caress more than a kiss. A second more and then he’s gone, walking briskly down the lane, shouting for Benvolio to show him the fish. </p><p>*~*</p><p>“You’re just a bloody bastard is what you are. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from Romeo?”</p><p>Tybalt rolls his eyes and nearly falls into an armchair. “Always so dramatic, Mercutio. I’m surprised he brought it up. I must have made an impression.”</p><p>Mercutio scoffs. “You made an impression alright. Terrorizing innocent boys in dark corners.” He had come short of actually promising Romeo that he would not speak to Tybalt on the matter, and there was no way in heaven or hell Mercutio was going to let this one slide. </p><p>Tybalt smirks licentiously. “You’re only angry because you’re jealous.”</p><p>“Of Romeo? You think too much of yourself.”</p><p>“Of me.”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Montague <i>enjoyed </i>it.”</p><p>“He did not exactly relay it to me as a pleasant experience.” Mercutio crosses his arms defiantly. </p><p>“That’s because he’s a bloody fool afraid of every new thing to cross his path.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck you. You’re not a <i>new thing. </i>You’re an old cat in heat.”</p><p>“Really, Mercutio, you’re off your game today.”</p><p>Mercutio struggles to not snap. Tybalt is far too relaxed, far too confidant. Already certain he has won. Showing how much this entire thing drives him up a wall will not make Mercutio’s position here better. Mercutio continues to stare him down, instead. “My friends are off limits. In <i>every </i>way.”</p><p>Tybalt is still smirking as he gets up again and walks over to Mercutio, cups his face with mock-tenderness. “He enjoyed it. And frankly so did I. And it drives you <i>mad </i>because that boy you fawn over so much, whom you have always thought out of reach and incapable of giving himself to a man, was in my power, moaning under <i>my </i>hands. Not yours. And it drives you even more crazy that it was I of all people who is now the subject of his guilty daydreams.”</p><p>Mercutio tries to slap him, but Tybalt catches his hand and presses a long kiss to his wrist. “You son-of-a-bitch,” Mercutio snarls. </p><p>“You should be grateful to me.”</p><p>“For bloody what? You only did this because you cannot stand that I desire someone other than you. That I might actuallylove a Montague.”</p><p>“Love is it? I’ve never heard you speak of that before.”</p><p>“Perhaps I would love <i>you, </i>if you managed to make yourself tolerable for more than five seconds at a time.”</p><p>“And yet you are still here. After all this time. Even after I’ve <i>defiled </i>your precious Romeo.”</p><p>Mercutio wishes he had the willpower to turn around, walk out the door, slam it shut, and never come back. But he knows it would be in vain. He has tried before, only to always fall back into Tybalt’s bed sooner or later. Perhaps that is a sort of love in itself. </p><p>“If you managed to squash your righteousness for two seconds, you could see that In all this I have done you a favor. An act of love, even.”</p><p>Mercutio scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Pray tell. <i>How</i>?”</p><p>“Montague has discovered that men are an option to him. For one. He enjoyed my company – even if he denies it now – and I find him…enjoyable enough.”</p><p>“He’s not a fine cut of meat, Tybalt,” Mercutio hisses. </p><p>“In any case, I would not say no to a repeat. Unlike others, I am not so jealous as to not share my toys. So instead of competing with me, perhaps we could make it our common goal to show Montague all the joys of a life driven by something other than old Friar Lawrence’s preaching. And you, <i>sweetheart</i>, will get all that your heart desires. A man who can satisfy you in bed and a boy who will write you love poems and play with your hair.”</p><p>“And what do <i>you </i>get out of it?” Mercutio asks suspiciously. He isn’t certain how much he enjoys the idea of debauching Romeo. It feels quite profane. </p><p>“Some entertainment. And your happiness.”</p><p>“Because you care so much about my happiness,” Mercutio says dryly. </p><p>Tybalt’s eyes are dark, and oddly sincere. “Perhaps more than you think. At the very least, we can avoid future scenes like this.” Tybalt sweeps the room in an expansive gesture. </p><p>Mercutio sighs and rubs both hands over his face. How <i>delicious </i>it would be to watch Tybalt and Romeo pleasure each other. How comforting it would be to not have the Montague question constantly between himself and Tybalt. How sweet it would be to fall asleep with Romeo in his arms. But things were rarely so simple. “What if he falls in love? Romeo is not like us. What if he falls in love with only one of us?”</p><p>“So unsure of yourself. It doesn’t suit you, Mercutio.” Tybalt paces over to the other side of the room and pours a glass of wine. It’s bright red. Something in Mercutio falters and flutters helplessly. </p><p>“It’s not even that,” Mercutio says, making a small, frustrated gesture. “Even if he cares for us both. I would not trust you to not break his heart.” Although, if Mercutio is honest with himself, Romeo falling in love with Tybalt would break <i>his</i> heart. And, shamefully, he fears that they may fall in love with each other and leave him out in the cold entirely. Romeo could charm anyone who takes more than a minute to get to know him.</p><p>“Then you will be there to pick up the pieces,” Tybalt says lightly, sipping his wine. </p><p>“I would rather he not go through it at all.”</p><p>“Perhaps you think too poorly of me.”</p><p>Mercutio sighs. “You’re not exactly a romantic.”</p><p>Tybalt gestures with his wineglass and grins. “Neither are you.”</p><p><i>Really, </i>Mercutio thinks, <i>we should </i>both <i>stay away from him. </i>Mercutio paces the room restlessly for a few moments, sinking long, restless fingers into his own hair, feeling like he could tear it out just as he is being torn apart from the inside by all of his conflicting feelings. Yet, in the end… </p><p>He has never been particularly selfless. Or careful with his own heart. </p><p>“Alright. I will see about it—<i>But</i>. You do nothing until I’ve figured out if and how this will work.”</p><p>Tybalt’s smile widens. He holds out the wineglass to Mercutio and Mercutio take a long drink gratefully. “Good boy,” Tybalt purrs. </p><p>Mercutio makes a face, but doesn’t say anything, only sets the glass aide, and pulls Tybalt into a long kiss. </p><p>*~*</p><p>At first the offer shocks Romeo into silence and uncertainty. That Tybalt wants to see him again, he could imagine perhaps, but what really knocks the air out of him is Mercutio’s confession – breathless, full of wild hope, nearly desperate.</p><p>“He’s been wild about you for a long time,” Benvolio confirms later, nodding sagely. “Years probably.”</p><p>Three men to a bed – even Mercutio had seemed to think such a thing lewd. “Only when they care nothing for each other,” Mercutio says when Romeo brings this up. </p><p>“Do you think Tybalt cares about me?” Romeo asks skeptically. </p><p>Mercutio sighs and sips at his wine. “He will. He and I – well, it’s complicated, but I’d say we care about each other in our own way. We’ve never been able to leave one another be. And as for you and me, aside from us being the closest of friends…” Mercutio looks down, biting the inside of his cheek. Romeo had not given a direct answer to his confession when he first made it. </p><p>“I have never held a heart more dear,” Romeo says softly. He reaches out and cups Mercutio’s face, then kisses him. It’s soft and tentative. There’s fear in Romeo’s eyes when he withdraws, but no uncertainty. </p><p>*~*</p><p>“You look wonderful,” Mercutio whispers into Romeo’s ear just before they enter Tybalt’s rooms. Romeo tries not to blush and focuses instead on the red accents of the décor, the black leather, and the ornate dagger collection on the wall. There is wine and cheese set out on a small table. <i>No candles, though, </i>Romeo thinks a little ironically to himself. </p><p>Tybalt appears from behind a thick drapery, his dark-crimson doublet already half unlaced. </p><p>“Hello,” Romeo says, now definitely failing at not blushing as the night of the masque ball flashes before his eyes. </p><p>“A lamb in a wolf’s lair, what do you know,” Tybalt says with a razor-sharp smile. </p><p>Mercutio discretely puts a hand on Romeo’s back. “Good evening to you too,” Mercutio says sarcastically. “Can’t be nice for even one second I see.”</p><p>Tybalt saunters over to them. He kisses Mercutio first, hard and with blunt familiarity. Romeo watches as they instinctively melt into that kiss without even trying. He them turns to Romeo and runs the tips of his fingers over his cheek and his lips, down his neck and over the soft velvet of his sapphire-blue cloak. “Too many clothes. Did Mercutio dress you? We’ll have to unwrap you like a Christmas present.”</p><p>Mercutio opens his mouth to say something, but Romeo cuts him off. “I’m the best present you’ll ever get, Tybalt.”</p><p>Tybalt’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead and Mercutio bursts out in gleeful laughter. </p><p>Tybalt nods thoughtfully and looks between them. “Well, it’s a start.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>